Commiseration
by fadedelegance
Summary: "But did you reach out to him like I did? No, man. You didn't..." Detective Bernard is disappointed in himself for what happened with Sam Harkabee. Set post-"Shotgun". Rated T for language and descriptions of violence.


**Disclaimer****: Dick Wolf and NBC own "Law and Order". I don't. **

**A/N****: I liked the episode "Shotgun". It was really good—it had some great plot twists in it. I felt bad for Mike and Bernard, though. Sam Harkabee played them all for fools, but Mike and Bernard especially. They truly thought he was some kind of hero. And Bernard reached out to him and was so compassionate, understanding, and supportive, and what happened? Harkabee completely betrayed his trust. It was **_**so**_** sad. You could tell that really took a toll on him. **

** I wondered why Bernard felt compelled to reach out to Harkabee, so I used this fic to explore that. **

** As always, great acting by the leads, but Anthony Anderson's performance stood out to me the most, so this ficlet is dedicated to him. :)**

**Commiseration**

Detective Kevin Bernard sighed heavily as he pulled open the door of the local bar that was a favorite of Manhattan's cops and ADAs.

A small pang of surprise hit him when he noticed his colleague, Executive ADA Michael Cutter (aka Mike), seated at the front counter, idly sipping a bottle of beer. He looked deep in thought.

Kevin recalled for a moment what he'd thought of the guy when they'd first started working together: that he was a cocky, self-important jackass.

But he'd been knocked down a fair few notches since then—most likely because Kevin and Lupo had saved his life two years earlier. But Kevin had a very strong feeling that Connie Rubirosa also had something to do with the downsizing of the Cutter ego—much more so than himself and Lupo.

Kevin approached Mike.

"Is this seat free?" he asked, nodding at the empty stool to Mike's right. Even though he already knew the answer, the silence had to be broken somehow.

Mike set down his bottle of Michelob Ultra and looked up.

"Evening, Detective," he said. "Have a seat."

"Thanks," Kevin replied.

He sat down.

Soon after, the bartender came to take his drink order. Kevin ordered a Budweiser. He thanked the bartender when she brought it to him.

He took a drink and then sighed again.

"Man," he said, shaking his head at himself. "You would think that those years in the IAB would've given me an ironclad bullshit detector…Nope."

He took another drink of his Budweiser.

Mike swallowed a drink of Michelob Ultra.

"I take it you're talking about our stand-up guy of a friend, Sam Harkabee?" he asked dryly.

"Sure am," Kevin replied. "Damn…" he added, shaking his head again.

"At least you didn't practically start a fanclub for the guy. At least you didn't present him with a fucking award in front of a whole crowd of people on live TV," Mike said.

He took another drink of beer.

"I won't deny it—that's true," said Kevin. "But did you reach out to him like I did? No, man. You didn't…Lupo asked me why I cared so much. Why I had to offer to be there for the guy…"

"Why did you?" Mike asked, intrigued.

Kevin stared down at his beer bottle as he spoke.

"You know I grew up in Compton, right?"

Mike was astonished.

"No. I—I never knew that…Son-of-a-bitch…" he said.

"Yeah," said Bernard. "Well, when I was in 8th grade, my two best friends and I went to our favorite convenience store, which was owned by my neighbor. Mr. Parsons was a great guy. Sometimes he gave me and my friends free stuff for no reason at all…So we were there deciding what snacks to buy, when these two boys, who couldn't have been much older than we were, came in—and one of them had a gun. Right away, he pointed it at the cashier—demanded that he empty the cash drawer and give them all the money…Damn it, we were scared. We ducked down so they wouldn't see us. We knew the cashier, too. Doug—he was Mr. Parsons' nephew…The boys kept yelling at him to hurry up and empty the drawer…Doug just kept saying over and over again that he didn't want any trouble. Then all of a sudden, Mr. Parsons runs out of the back room, and _he's_ got a gun. We could see that much…It all happened so fast. Mr. Parsons yelled, 'Hey! Drop the gun! Drop it!' And then we heard three shots being fired…Mr. Parsons yelled, 'Doug!' and there were other things being yelled and the sound of running. We didn't dare move. Mr. Parsons was damn near hysterical. We finally stood up when he was calling 911…There was blood spatter on the wall and all over the display cases of cigarettes and chewing tobacco behind the counter. One of the boys was on the floor. There was a puddle of blood around his left shoulder, so that was where he'd been shot. There was a gun on the floor not too far away from him. He had to have been the robber who pointed a gun at Doug—and that was the gun. He couldn't have retrieved it even if he'd wanted to. You could tell he was in way too much pain. The other robber must've fled the scene…"

He sighed.

"We had to stay and talk to the police once they got there," he continued. "They took Mr. Parsons' statement first: he was in his office when he heard the yelling. He grabbed his gun and ran out to try to protect Doug…Then he said the boy with the gun shot Doug and tried to shoot _him_ but missed. Mr. Parsons shot to disarm the boy and hit him in the shoulder…"

"And Doug?" asked Mike.

"Doug didn't make it," said Kevin. "The kid hit him in the chest."

"Damn," Mike muttered shaking his head.

Kevin sighed heavily.

"Yeah…" he said grimly. "Mr. Parsons blamed himself, too. He said he thought the kid panicked seeing Mr. Parsons with a gun, so he shot at both Mr. Parsons and Doug. He said that maybe if he hadn't run out of his office, Doug would still be alive. But who knows? Maybe the kid was planning to shoot all along…Mr. Parsons said he sold his gun after that…Anyway…"

He took another drink of Budweiser.

"That's why you took a liking to Sam Harkabee—he reminded you of Mr. Parsons," said Mike.

"Yeah," said Kevin. "Exactly."

He took another swig of beer and then said, "Except Mr. Parsons was a good man. He wasn't dishonest and manipulative…"

Silence fell as they drank their beers.

Then—

"So why're you drinking alone? I thought Connie would be with you," said Kevin.

"I didn't ask her to join me," said Mike.

"You embarrassed about trusting Harkabee?" Kevin asked shrewdly.

"Absolutely not," Mike said, not trying at all to be convincing.

He finished his beer and then set the empty bottle down.

"I mean, come on, like I said, I practically started a fanclub for the guy," he said dryly.

"You and me both, brother," said Kevin.

Mike sighed.

"Well, Detective, it's time to face the music—and song is called we've been had," he then said flatly.

"Amen," Kevin said bleakly.

"You want another beer? On me?" asked Mike.

"Sure—thank you," said Kevin.

"No problem," said Mike. "We were both played for fools, so we may as well commiserate, right?"

"Good point, man," said Kevin.


End file.
